Lisette
by Sottanaprima
Summary: Sorry about the delay - this story has run away with me.  Only Part 2 is M rated.
1. Chapter 1

Lisette

Part 1

Actor didn't refuse to share what had been said between himself and Lisette behind the closed common room door. He just didn't say anything. When asked directly, he changed the subject.

Even the Warden couldn't get anything out of him, and that deeply troubled Garrison. They had all been through a lot: missions had kept coming their way, and they were never offered a period of downtime that they could look forward to. Although out in the field they now worked as a team, at home they were just the same disparate individuals they had always been, and that meant that he was constantly dealing with disputes and arguments. They were all tired. And now his chief peacemaker was causing him most concern.

There was a knock on the open door. Garrison easily deduced who it was: Goniff and Casino would've just walked in, and Actor was avoiding him. He didn't look up. "Come in, Chief."

The Indian closed the door behind him and came to stand in front of Garrison's desk, waiting patiently until the Warden looked up. "Well, Chief, what is it?"

"'M worried about Actor."

Garrison leant back in his chair and waved for Chief to sit down. "That makes two of us." He knew the Indian would not have come just to tell him that. "You got an idea?"

Chief nodded.

"You gonna share it with me?"

Chief shook his head briefly. "Gave m'word.."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Give Actor a forty-eight hour pass."

"You think that'll help?"

The taciturn Indian nodded again.

"Can I ask why?"

Again the shake of the head. "Gave m'word." With that Chief stood up and left the room.

Garrison thought, and then reached into his drawer for his blank passes.

Actor was alone in the library with a book in his hand. A fly on the wall would've noticed that he'd been reading the same page for the last hour and a half. Garrison entered the room like a minor tornado and stood in front of the Italian conman. There he paused. "I was going to ask how you're feeling, but you'll give me some bullshit about being fine. Chief won't tell me why, but he reckons a forty-eight hour pass might help. Will it?"

Actor appeared to ponder. "It might."

"And a rail warrant to London?"

"That is most generous of you."

Garrison handed him the pass and the warrant, and Actor leaned forward slowly to take them. "One of Gil's men will drive you to the station for the 12.25. Be back here on Thursday at 12.30 or I'll hang you up by the balls." The tornado swept to the door, where it paused and said, "We all know you've had a rough time of it. We all want to help, but it's difficult when you won't let us. You've got forty-eight hours to get yourself sorted." As he walked back to his office, Garrison reflected that he never thought he'd say those words to Actor.

GGG

Actor walked into the church and looked around: there was an old lady sitting on the front pew and a couple near the back, but no sign of Marcel. He walked to the aisle, genuflected and crossed himself, then continued to the vestry. "May I come in?"

The priest was sitting at a desk, sorting papers, but he looked up with an expression of delight as he recognised the voice. "Jean-Pierre! Oh, but it good to see you again so soon. Come in, mon vieux!" He hurried over to his visitor and they greeted one another in the Gallic fashion.

It occurred to Actor as they stood together in a smiling embrace that the years had not been as kind to his friend as they had been to him. Although they were of an age, Marcel, with his closely cropped grey hair, looked older than his years. The man looked neatly groomed, but his soutane was worn, his collar was just at the point of starting to fray. One thing that seemed to have become stronger was the gleam of mischief in his eyes.

As they parted Actor's mind flashed back to the short years they'd spent together on the Bou' Sain' Mich', the happy, carefree times when they'd studied, caroused and chased after women together. The nights they'd spent in deep discussion: no matter the starting point, the conversation had always turned quickly to philosophical matters. Those discussions had led them both to renounce the carousing and womanising. One had sacrificed the pleasures of the flesh to serve a God he deeply believed in, while the other? The other had not spoken to anyone about his guiding philosophy since his friend had told him of his decision to enter the Church.

Actor put the Fortnum's box he was carrying down on the table. "They've stopped doing hampers for the duration. Shall we have a picnic?" He produced a tin of water biscuits, some Camembert, a tin of caviar and a bottle of Veuve Cliquot that was already wrapped in ice. "Do you have glasses and knives?" Marcel's rich laugh confirmed that he had: a couple of mismatched tumblers and a penknife. Actor smiled happily. "This reminds me of our student days."

"But we did not eat so well then." The priest eased the cork out of the bottle with thumbs that had not forgotten the skill despite the number of years that had passed since he had last been called upon to use it. The years fell away as Actor waited for Marcel to bless the feast before they both fell to with the ease of old friends. The conversation was warm and amicable as they spoke of old friends and new situations and savoured the impromptu meal.

Finally Marcel licked his fingers, wiped his mouth with his handkerchief and accepted a final refill from the bottle. His eyes glowed with mellow bonhomie and friendship. . "Now, my friend, are you going to come to the point?"

Actor sat back in his chair, his smile not so relaxed. "Marcel, times have changed for both of us. We are both a long way from our homes. You are a priest, and I am a convicted and unrepentant criminal."

"Do you miss your home?"

"No. Do you?"

"Occasionally. And you say you are unrepentant?"

"Yes."

"Good. I am glad to hear that."

"Marcel, you are playing your old tricks again."

"Who, me?"

"Explain yourself, Machiavel."

"What is there to explain?" The dark eyes glowed with mischief. "I am glad that, even if you do not know it, you are doing the Lord's work."

Actor's eyes narrowed.

"I was reflecting on your situation, and I received Divine inspiration." Marcel's chuckle was full of wicked delight. "Whatever you are doing now is saving many innocent lives, is it not? And it is foiling the aims of the Ungodly. For my part, that is doing the Lord's work." He paused, enjoying his moment. "But then I thought – the Lord has been preparing you for this work throughout the whole of your life. He gave you many gifts, and you developed them and chose to use them in a way of which the world disapproved. But without those years of training and experience, you could not do what you do now, could you, mon ami? Even being caught and convicted has led you directly to where you are today. I think God works for the good of the world as much through you as he does through me."

For once, Actor was speechless, and his shocked silence was rich sauce on Marcel's sundae.

Marcel allowed his friend a few moments to recover his wits before he continued.

"The woman who is frightened of you – you have spoken with her?"

Still off-balance, Actor nodded. "That she spoke to me would be more correct. But I cannot tell you what she said."

"You do not need to, my friend. It is what she did not say that interests me. I think she is in love with you, is she not?"

Actor stared at his friend the priest, and even as the latest shockwaves dissipated he understood that the priest was probably right. He had learned long ago the psychology of the love-hate relationship and had seen it many times in his life, but always happening to other people. He was aware also of the effect he had on women, and knew how to moderate that effect by his behaviour to achieve his aims. And he knew that the SS uniform both suited and flattered him. That the girl had created of him a figure of hatred to disguise her true feelings for the cultured, intelligent and handsome officer seemed entirely plausible to him now that it was brought to his notice. It would allow her to manage and cope with her own unexpected and unwanted emotions and physical needs.

Marcel watched the conman's face as he digested that bombshell, and knew that, after all the years they had been friends, he had finally reconciled their two ways of life. "God gave you many gifts, my friend. This girl, she has had a bad time, has she not?" He smiled gently as Actor's face took on the mask behind which he found it convenient to hide his feelings, and he leaned forward to lay his hand on Actor's arm. "I do not ask what has happened to her. But you must know that I serve many of the Free French based here, and one hears things. It is – sad – that so far she has only seen the bad side of men – the fear and the suffering that men create. She has had a bad time, and she has suffered greatly for one so young. I can't believe that this is what a kind and loving God wants for anyone. You know that I do not believe in fate: I believe that God guides all our steps. I believe that God meant your paths to cross. I think God intends that you should show her the pleasure that He meant a man and a woman to enjoy."

Actor's face froze for a second, then his head went back as a laugh of pure joy broke from him, and his whole being ignited with delight. "Marcel, you old rogue – you think I should seduce her?"

"I think it would be a good thing for her to become acquainted with the good things in life. I know of no-one more qualified to introduce her than you, Jean-Pierre.

"And this is doing God's work?" Actor's delight knew no bounds.

"I think it is."

"Does the Holy Father know of this new doctrine?"

Marcel smiled wryly. "We do not speak very often."

"No, I'll wager you don't."

"We two do not speak as often as I would like, Jean-Pierre. But you know that I hold you in the greatest esteem. I feel for this woman. She risks her life, not for la France, but for her family, her friends, her community. She suffers for them, suffers far more than the ordinary women of this country, and the Lord knows that they suffer greatly. Would it be such a penance for you to show her that life is not all suffering? That God meant His people to enjoy themselves rather than suffer?"

Actor's smile faded as he considered Marcel's proposal. "A penance? No. But she is young, Marcel. Young enough to be – the daughter of either of us. The reality may be a disappointment to her after the fantasy."

"Oof! Jean-Pierre! You do not believe that! You will create a magical world for her, a world in which her needs are paramount – and satisfied. And I give you my word, Jean-Pierre – you will be doing God's work."


	2. Chapter 2

LIsette

Part 2

Actor collected LIsette from the Old Vicarage at nine in the morning and they walked the short distance to the station together to catch the 9.22 to London. In the first class carriage Actor outlined his plans for the weekend, and encouraged her to contribute her own ideas. This was, after all, her first real visit to London and he wanted her to enjoy herself.

When he knew that the train would not stop for another twenty minutes, he took his bag and disappeared to the toilet, returning in the uniform of a Free French captain.

In answer to her questioning look, he explained, "For a man, it is easier to be in uniform. And this one means that I do not have to explain the accent." He did not mention that he thought she may have a penchant for men in uniform.

In London they went straight to the Ritz, where the _capitaine_ had booked his usual suite. The staff there recognised the handsome Frenchman, and were too well-trained and well tipped to mention the change of woman on his arm. They unpacked their bags in their respective rooms, then met up in the sitting room to sally forth together on an unsuspecting London.

Their first stop was Foyles, where he watched her complete the transformation from war-weary martyr to enchanted young woman. And enchanting, he admitted to himself when he managed to find time to reflect. They spent a busy hour discussing the merits of a vast number of authors, and this consolidated their friendship. With the regret of a child selecting just two of her favourite sweets, she went to the counter to pay for just two books. She turned to leave, and saw Actor staggering to the counter with the pile of regretfully rejected books for which he paid and ordered delivered to the Old Vicarage. He dismissed her protests by saying that he wanted to borrow them from her.

They went to the French pub for an aperitif, then on to a little restaurant in Soho where he knew the lunch would be simple but superlative. Then they became tourists, and went to see Buckingham Palace and the Tower of London. Then back to the Ritz for afternoon tea and a rest before getting ready for the evening out.

He was sitting in the armchair, resplendent in a well-cut and perfectly fitting dinner jacket, enjoying a cigarette, when she entered wearing a pale blue evening gown whose simple lines flattered her young body and emphasised the colour of her eyes. "Could you please zip me up?" she asked with a shy smile, and turned her back to him. As he carefully pulled the two pieces of satin fabric together and pulled up the long zip he saw the scars on her back, and knew that she wanted him to know what had happened to her. His hands came to rest gently on her shoulders. "Lisette."

"Shh." She turned and smiled shyly at him, then hurried back into her room.

He took her to the Royal Albert Hall for a concert of English music – the Cockaigne overture and the Lark Ascending, and after the interval Elgar's Second Symphony. They were amused by the union flags which were waved by some of the audience, and their European connections brought them closer together in order to isolate them from the atmosphere of jingoism that permeated the hall at the start of the concert – although Actor noticed that the jingoism had vanished by the end, when the music had wrought its magic on them all.

In the foyer Lisette took his hand and looked up at him with shining eyes. "Would you take me dancing? Please?"

He took her to the Savoy Grill, where they had dinner, then went down to the ballroom. The first two dances were a foxtrot followed by a quickstep. Then the band struck up a waltz, and she moved her body close to his, and he couldn't disguise his arousal. She smiled up at him, her cheeks flushing and her eyes becoming wide, then she pressed herself to him, resting her head against his shoulder, their bodies moving as one, alone on the crowded floor.

When the music stopped, she whispered, "Let's go home."

In the taxi they shared their first lovers' kiss.

It took him nearly an hour to achieve her first orgasm. At first he spoke gently to her to reassure her, his passion held in check until she was convinced that she had nothing to fear of or from him. He used the palms of his hands to excite the nerves in her skin, and as she responded he used his voice less but his mouth and breath more, and he was surprised and delighted when she used her hands to tell him what pleased her and her voice to tell him just how pleased she was. When his fingers slipped between her legs he could tell by the spontaneous gasp of surprise and pleasure that she had never experienced this before, and the feeling that she was honouring him with her trust conjured up long forgotten emotions that fuelled his passion.

He controlled his own urges while she lay in his arms, enjoying her with all his senses, her face and body flushed and damp and heady with passion as she recovered. He waited until she opened her eyes, then slowly allowed himself to turn from smiling lover into triumphant conqueror. This time he allowed himself to take her, and she gasped and shouted the louder for that.

He awoke early the following morning to find her still wrapped in his arms, her blonde hair voluptuously messy. Two pale blue eyes were gazing at him with adoration, and the first thought that entered his head was that Marcel had been right. The second thought was that it was an entirely inappropriate thought, given the circumstances, so he pushed it to the back of his mind and promised himself he would examine it later. In the meantime he had to continue God's work.

She wriggled to free her hand, then reached up to touch his cheek with her index finger, tracing a line down to his chin then over to his other cheek. He smiled ruefully. "I need to shave."

"No." Her voice trembled slightly, and she wriggled again so that she could gently rub both her palms against his rough dark cheeks.

"And we both need a bath."

"No!" She tucked her head into his neck, and he felt her tongue and lips on his skin, and his senses were overwhelmed by her again, causing his body to respond to her despite himself. Suddenly she was pulling away from him, then pushing at his chest and shoulders, forcing him onto his back; she threw back the blankets and scrambled to straddle his waist, her knees pressing into his sides to hold him immobile. With innocent eroticism she pushed her hair back off her face, then began to trace his body with her fingers, starting at his throat and moving firmly but slowly to card the thick dark hair on his chest.

He looked up at the girl woman above him, her hair a mess, her eyes glowing with life in her thin face, her collarbones too prominent, her breasts small with malnutrition but with nipples erect and excited. He was a man, and human, so he reached up and pulled her down to him.

It was gone eleven when they left the hotel, so they left their bags at the station and decided to go into Soho and find a cafe where they could have breakfast. As they walked through the quiet Sunday morning streets Actor noticed that a photographer's studio was open, and on impulse he took her in to have her portrait taken. She protested, but he took her face in his hands and kissed her tenderly, and with a blush she concurred. He managed the whole affair so that they were in and out of the studio in a few minutes, but he knew that Yvette would be pleased with the picture.

Then they found a cafe, and over coffee and croissants followed by bacon and eggs he diverted her thoughts from the photograph by making up fantastical tales about the passers-by. As she giggled at his irreverent stories he wondered at the change he had wrought in her. And she did not know, as he entertained and charmed her with his imagination and wit, that he longed to be alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Lisette

Part 3

Although he did not betray his thoughts, Actor was glad that, the day after his weekend in London with Lisette, they were given another mission. And as he usually didn't complain, no-one realised that he was relieved when they missed their rendezvous with the aeroplane that was to lift them out, and then bad weather closed in and kept them in occupied Belgium for a further four days. When they got back they were all cold and hungry and tired and dehydrated, and their nerves were frayed by the waiting and the inaction, so they were all glad to close their own bedroom doors and crawl into their own beds and find oblivion for the next twelve hours.

They were gathered around Garrison's table, drinking coffee over the debrief, when the phone rang: it was the gate announcing the arrival of Captain Jenkins and Sergeant Wilkinson. Temporarily dismissed, the cons trooped back to their common room, and while Goniff and Chief lifted the table in front of the door then sat on it, Casino put on his headphones and activated the bug in the light fitting in the Warden's office.

The three cons watched as Casino's face tightened with shock and horror. "Oh Christ no. It's Lisette – Lisette's dead." Then he was tearing the headphones off: "Actor – Warden's coming for you."

With the smoothness of practiced teamwork the table was restored to its normal place and the cons were sitting around innocently finishing their coffee when the Warden opened the door. His expression would've told them it was bad news even had they not already known. "Actor?" With a nod of his head Garrison summoned the conman.

As the door closed Casino made to go back to his headphones, but he found himself stopped by Chief's palm on his chest. Casino looked at the hand, then at the Indian, who said quietly, "No, man. That's Actor in there. Leave him be."

Not fully understanding but sensing it might be wise to defer to the normally undemonstrative Indian, Casino went back to his chair.

The British officer and his NCO were sitting at the briefing table, both staring inanimately at the table. Garrison said, "I think you'd better sit down."

Actor took Casino's chair so that they were grouped at the foot of the table. "What has happened?"

The Captain buried his face in his hands to stifle the distress he could no longer control, so it was left to the capable Sergeant to answer. "It's Lisette, sir." He swallowed hard. "She – she volunteered to go back in – we had an emergency." He knew he was telling this the wrong way round, but couldn't help himself. "It was a trap. She dropped straight into the Jerries' hands." He stopped to bite his lower lip, and as he blinked tears appeared at the corners of his eyes. He grasped the edge of the table. "We've just been to tell her mother that she was killed stone dead by a bullet in a gun fight."

"For how long did they have her?"

"Thirty hours." Wilkinson's control cracked. "God help her."

Captain Jenkins dropped his hands from his face to take up the tale. "They shot her in the market square. Rounded up the locals to watch. The local priest managed to get to her – said she knew what was going on, and she put on a show. When they –" His voice cracked again, but he pushed on. "When they took aim, her head went up and she shouted 'Vive la France!'"

Garrison watched Actor's face, and could not get past the hardness of expression behind which he was hiding.

Wilkinson took over the story. "Seems it worked. Since then we've had a stream of reports coming through about an outbreak of civil disorder – tyres let down and slashed, petrol tanks fouled, trees felled over main roads, that sort of thing."

"Who is with Yvette?"

"A couple of neighbours. Seems she has no-one of her own over here, and her husband's family all live in Scotland."

Actor looked at Garrison for the first time. "I'll get Chief to drive you," the Warden said curtly. He had decided earlier that what had gone on during that weekend away was none of his business, but now he thought it might be. The relationships seemed to be complicated.

Chief parked the jeep on Yvette's drive, watched as Actor entered the house, then walked down to the teashop.

Mrs Spencer made a fuss over serving him, and filled him in on the latest gossip: an officer had been to Mrs Crabtree's early that morning, so they all thought that Mr Crabtree was dead. But she knew he was the quiet one, so once she'd placed his coffee and scone on his table, she left him to his newspaper.

After half an hour he returned to the Old Vicarage, and stretched out on the back seat of the jeep. He gazed up at the sky, watching the clouds and the occasional bird, allowing the peacefulness to sink into him and restore him.

He became alert when he heard voices coming towards him: two women were coming up the drive, but they were so engrossed in their own conversation that they missed noticing him. Chief recognised one of them as Marje, Goniff's woman, but he didn't know the other. She was smallish too, but not so skinny as Marje, and her brown hair was thick and wavy on her shoulders. They disappeared into the house, engrossed in their conversation.

He was not surprised when Actor appeared soon after. Lithe as a cat, he stood up and stepped over the back to drop into the driving seat. Actor came and stood at the side of the jeep: Chief had never seen him looking so haggard, not even after that time in Italy. But he knew that he wouldn't get a straight answer, so he didn't ask.

Actor said, "I need to go to London. Do you have any money?"

Chief shook his head. He did, but he wasn't letting Actor go anywhere alone. He checked the petrol gauge. "I'll drive you."

"I cannot ask you to do that."

"You aint askin'. Get in." Chief started the engine.

They were heading into central London when Chief broke the silence. "The church?"

He glanced across at his companion, who nodded silently. He found their way there without mishap, and pulled up on a side street some fifty yards from the church. He switched off the engine and sat back, easing cold hands and stiff shoulders.

Actor dug into his pockets, and came up with a key. "I do not know how long I shall be. Please – go to my flat and make yourself at home. I will join you there soon." He got out of the jeep and turned back to add, "There is a telephone in the flat. Please ring the Warden and let him know where we are." For the first time a hint of a smile touched his lips. "He gets a little hot under the collar when we disappear, and we can't afford for him to develop ulcers." Then he was off, striding purposefully down the street towards the church.

Chief drove to the block of flats. Remembering the human alarm, he parked the jeep in front of garage number six, then walked to the rear entrance and tried the key in the lock. It worked, and it worked in the lock of flat six too.

He closed the door behind him and looked curiously around Actor's flat. He'd never speculated on the Italian's taste, so was not surprised at what he saw. The hall had no source of natural light, so had very light painted walls and an overhead lamp that came on when the door opened. And it was warm.

He opened each door leading off the hall methodically: a bedroom, a bathroom and another bedroom, a kitchen, and a large living room, easily as big as the common room back at the Mansion. He walked into this room, and looked around. The place was furnished in a simple manner but the furnishings looked expensive. Two large, high-backed settees flanked the fireplace. In the corner by the window stood a wing chair, and next to it a table with a pile of books and ash-tray with a pipe in it. Over the other side of the room from the chair, next to the kitchen wall, stood a dining table with a silver candelabrum, and against the wall a sideboard. The window was large, and as it faced south the sun streamed in.

But it wasn't the furnishings that caught his eye – it was the books. On either side of the fireplace there were bookshelves crammed with books: the shelves were full, and there were books laid on top of books. Intrigued, Chief walked over to look at the titles: he'd gained enough knowledge over the past months to recognise that they were all printed in French.

The door bell rang, and he froze. There was no way that Actor could be back just yet. After a moment's thought, he went to answer it. It was the oldish man with the grey hair on his balding head and the round glasses. "Ah. You're Chief, right?"

Bemused, Chief nodded.

"I'm Walter. I look after things for Jean-Pierre. Is he coming later on?"

"'Spect so," Chief ventured.

"Good." Walter handed over the two brown fabric shopping bags he was holding. "This should see you right til tomorrow. Tell 'im to let me know what he needs, an' I'll sort it."

Chief took the bags, which were heavy, and Walter turned to go to his own flat. "Thanks," Chief called to the retreating back, but as he got no response he shrugged, closed the door and took the bags into the kitchen.

The kitchen was smallish, and the first thing he noticed was that there was no table. There were lots of cupboards on the walls, and under them lots space like the counters in shops but without the business side, and lots of cupboards underneath the counters. He dumped the bags on the nearest counter, and started to unpack them: bread, butter, milk, bacon, eggs, potatoes, carrots, green beans, onions. A brown paper package which contained frozen meat.

He looked around, and with the same methodical thoroughness he'd used in the hall he started to open cupboards, finding crockery, glass ware, then the store cupboards that looked as though they had been transferred straight out of a glossy society magazine. One of the cupboards turned out to be a refrigerator: he's seen them in hotel kitchens but never in a private house. He was starting to appreciate just how loaded Actor was. And prepared – the refrigerator contained an ice making compartment full of ice cubes, with four bottles of champagne underneath. He left the bread and the vegetables on the counter and put the rest of the stuff in the icebox.

He went out into the hall, cautiously picked up the telephone receiver and dialled zero. Almost immediately a chirpy female voice came on the line. "Operator – what number please?" Chief gave the Warden's exchange and number. "One moment please – connecting you." There were several clicks as the lines were joined and the operators spoke to one another, and then Chief heard the ringing tone.

"Garrison."

"Warden – it's Chief."

"Where the hell are you?"

"London."

"Actor with you?"

"Yeah – I drove him in."

"I take it he doesn't want to speak to me."

"He's not here."

"Where is he?"

"Can't tell you that, Warden."

"You gave your word?"

"Yup."

"How is he?"

"Bad as I've ever seen. Worse." He paused to weigh his words. "Warden, we'll be back."

"Christ, Chief, you'd better be." Garrison paused, and there was real concern in his voice as he asked, "You okay with this? Can you cope with Actor?"

Chief thought before he answered. "Yeah. I'm okay with this. I can cope."

GGG

It was late afternoon before the doorbell rang again, and Chief let Actor in. The man looked done in: his eyes were dark and his face was pinched, and the gleam in his eye had gone completely. Chief followed him into the sitting room and watched as Actor walked straight to one of the sofas and lay down on his back, closing his eyes. Chief decided to sit down on the other sofa, and took up the half-full cup of coffee that he'd just made for himself, and picked up again the only book in English he could find in the flat – Put Out The Light by Cyril Connolly.

Just over an hour later Actor's eyes opened and his head turned to where Chief sat quietly reading. "Chief, I beg your pardon. I am being remiss in my duties as a host. You must be hungry. Has Walter been?"

Chief put down the book. "Yeah. Stuff's in the kitchen. You want a hand?"

Actor swung his legs to the floor, rested his forearms on his knees and looked earnestly across at the Indian. "Yes, I think I do." He stood up and led the way into the kitchen, where they fell easily into their roles of joint chefs. Chief murmured something about going to get the fish, and was surprised to see Actor smiling for the first time that day, with real warmth touching his eyes.

After dinner Chief said, "Think you'd better ring the Warden."

"Yes, I suppose you're right." He paused, looking directly at Chief. "Will you stay here with me tonight?"

Chief looked ostentatiously around the comfortable sitting room. "S'a bit rough, but I suppose I'll manage." He was pleased that Actor touched him on the shoulder and laughed on his way into the hall.

"Garrison."

"Warden, this is Actor."

Silence, then, "'Bout time too. Where are you?"

"London. Warden, -"

"When are you coming back here?"

"Tomorrow morning."

There was a silence, then Garrison broke it. "Actor, humour me. Just for once, give me a straight answer. Are you alright?"

Another silence, then, "No, Lieutenant, I am not alright. But I have sought advice, and intend to follow it. Part of that advice is to get a good night's sleep. And I need to pick up a – a package tomorrow morning. We will be with you around eleven." Another pause. "Will that be satisfactory to you?"

Garrison tried hard to keep his voice level as he said, "Yeah, that'll do. See you both tomorrow."


	4. Chapter 4

Lisette

Part Four

True to their word, Chief and Actor returned to the Mansion just before eleven, with Actor still clutching the brown paper parcel that had never left his hand since he'd picked it up earlier that day. In front of the steps was parked the Morris saloon used by Captain Jenkins. The two cons exchanged glances, then Actor was hurrying up the steps.

The Warden's office was empty, so they went to the common room. As they walked through the door Casino went straight onto the attack. "So y'decided to come back after all, did ya?"

"I am well, thank you, Casino, and you?" Actor said mildly. "Where is the Warden?"

"Don' lissen to 'im, Actor – 'e's pissed off cos the Warden an' that Captain were talkin' in French an' 'e couldn't understand it." He paused, looking at Actor, then to Chief, then back at Actor. "You alright, mate?"

Actor started to say something, then consciously changed his mind. "I think that we still have some hurdles to surmount, but they are not insurmountable. I also believe that my presence will be required by the Warden: I shall go and wait in his office. In the meantime, you may quiz Chief about my apartment."

Casino was speechless, but only for a minute. "Can you believe that guy? He walks in like there's nothin' wrong, then walks out again! Chees!"

"Aw, stop whingin'," Goniff turned to Chief. "You been to 'is flat?"

Chief nodded. "Remember – the Warden don't know about it."

"So what's it like?" Goniff leant forward, all ears.

Chief shrugged. "Big." Goniff looked indignant. "Lots of books," Chief added.

"So who'd he go see?" Casino demanded to know.

"Dunno. I dropped him off, then went to the 'partment to wait."

"Hell, it's like pullin' teeth. Okay," Casino feigned patience. "Where did you drop him?"

"Dunno. He just said drop me here."

"How far away from the apartment?"

"Ten – fifteen minutes." Chief was starting to enjoy himself, but his face never slipped.

"How long was he gone?"

"Three – four hours." Well, at least that was true. He decided to volunteer the next bit: "When he got back he was out of it. Never seen him so far gone."

"So what did you do?"

"Ate – talked." He was now beginning to understand why Actor let so little of his private life become common knowledge.

"Where'd'ya sleep – on the couch?"

"Spare room." He didn't mention the cream satin sheets on the biggest and most comfortable bed he'd ever slept in.

"So what's in the package?"

"Dunno." Casino looked as though he'd like to strangle Chief, but the latter kept a blank face.

Actor sat down at his usual place at the Warden's table, placed the package on it, and lit a cigarette. He did not have long to wait before Garrison, Jenkins and Wilkinson returned. Garrison tried not to let his relief show, but acknowledged the prodigal's return with a "You okay?" He knew he wasn't going to get an answer, but it helped him to ask anyway, as it allowed him to appraise the conman. He looked thin and pinched, but a faint gleam of life seemed to be back in his eyes. Garrison hoped he wasn't indulging in wishful thinking.

"A mon avis il vaut mieux parler français," Actor said calmly.

Without asking why they all switched to that language.

"We've just been to see the mother," Garrison explained, avoiding using Yvette's name.

"How is she?"

"As you'd expect," Jenkins supplied as they all took chairs at the table. "We need to get her to go stay with relatives, but that seems to be a no-hoper."

Much to Garrison's surprise, Actor became very business-like, addressing the SOE men. "You know of course about the private masses of remembrance."

The two men glanced at one another, then Jenkins nodded. "How do you know about them?"

Actor ignored the question. "There will be one tomorrow night at the usual place. I have had a word with the priest who will be presiding, and he agrees that it will be permitted for the mother to attend."

The SOE men looked at each other again, clearly doubting the wisdom of this. Wilkinson said outright, "That is not permitted. It's special forces only."

"Her husband is a prisoner of war, and, besides, her husband is not Lisette's father. She has no family here, and her family in France disowned her. She has given a great deal of help to SOE, and now she given her daughter to the cause. She is SOE. She will attend. Lieutenant Garrison and I will escort her."

The two Englishmen looked at each other again, clearly doubting the permissibility of this, but Garrison felt his spirits soar. His second may be tired and troubled, but he was back on form again.

When the SOE men had left, Garrison tried to get some more information out of Actor, but was politely refused and told he would be briefed later. That afternoon Actor walked to the Old Vicarage and spent a half-hour with Yvette, securing her attendance at the Requiem Mass. He went with the parcel, and came back empty-handed.

Early the following morning Garrison was about to set off for a run when he saw a Humber Snipe approaching the Mansion. He feared it would be British brass, but as it came closer he recognised Actor at the wheel, so he walked slowly down the steps and waited until the big saloon whispered to a stop before strolling across to open the door. "This hot?" he asked abruptly, dreading that the answer would be in the affirmative.

"No." Actor seemed to take offence, but then he added, "It is legal. We can hardly transport Yvette in a jeep."

"So where'd y'get it?" This time Garrison could see that Actor had taken offence, and he felt momentarily confused until he realised he'd been acting like an officer with a very junior rank. He said quickly, "Sorry – none of my business. What time do we leave?"

"I think we should aim to arrive in London before it becomes dark – shall we say three?"

"Fine. Which uniform do I wear?"

"The dress code is strictly non-funereal. You should wear whatever you would wear for a night on the town. But if you have a black tie, then bring that with you. Oh, and you will need your overnight bag. The mass will start at two am."

"Two am?" Garrison ran a worried hand through his hair.

"These masses do not officially take place, Warden. They are _priv__é__es_ – both private and unofficial. We will be finished around four."

It was nearly nine in the morning when Casino spotted the Snipe through the kitchen window, and his whoop of delight had Goniff craning his neck to see what had pleased the irascible safecracker. Excited, they started to the door, but found Actor blocking their path. He skewered them with his stare. "That automobile is on loan to the US Army for a very special purpose. This afternoon the Warden and I will be escorting Yvette to a memorial service for her daughter. If I find so much as a thumbprint on it I will require you to clean it before I arrange for you to be beaten to a pulp. Is that clear?" Shocked at having the man's forcefulness turned on them, they nodded dumbly. Actor reached into his pocket and produced a set of keys which he handed to Casino, then he stepped aside, allowing the two cons to pass.

From his place at the breakfast table Chief digested the import of the scene that had just taken place, then caught Actor's eye by staring at him. "You goin' to bed now?" He knew that Actor had slipped out at around eleven the previous night, but hadn't bothered to follow him as he was pretty sure he knew where the conman was going. And the night before that Chief knew Actor had spent most of the night on the phone. So before Actor could answer Chief stood up with the dangerous decisiveness that struck fear into normal mortals. "I'll look after the wheels. Go get some sleep."

Intrigued by this unexpected turn of events, Actor stood by the hall window and watched as the Indian walked over to the car and stood slightly apart from it. Casino and Goniff had the bonnet up and were exploring the powerful four litre engine with the enthusiasm of schoolboys. Chief said something, but Actor couldn't make out what. The pair straightened and looked at the Indian as he said something else. Casino started to argue, but Goniff interrupted him, then Casino shook his head, but disengaged the bonnet lock, let the bonnet fall into place and locked it down. Goniff got behind the wheel, switched the engine off, removed the keys and polished the steering wheel with his sleeve before stepping out and locking the door. He rubbed his sleeve over the door handle for good measure before handing the keys to Chief.

Bemused, Actor took the stairs two at a time so as not to be caught spying. As he relaxed on his bed, his last conscious thought was that Marcel may be right. Then sleep overtook him.

At five to three Garrison checked his image in the mirror before picking up his bag, cap and overcoat and heading down to the hall. Actor emerged from the common room at about the same time: Garrison was surprised to see that he was still casually dressed in sports jacket and flannels, but he decided to say nothing. Actor opened the boot so that Garrison could stow his overnight bag, and the Warden realised that Actor didn't have a bag with him. He waited until they'd cleared the gates of the estate before asking, "Where's your kit?"

Actor checked the deserted road before stopping the big car. He sat with both hands gripping the steering wheel, staring ahead, not looking at the man next to him, but his words were serious and earnest. "Warden, I have had a very bad time over the past month. I am – irresolute – about this. I am breaking rules that I may regret breaking. I should be grateful if you would watch my back."

"Watch your back – at a memorial service?"

"This is not a normal service, Warden. This is Section D and the Free French mourning one of their own. I am changing the rules. I think it is for the best, but I may be wrong."

"But you're doing it for Lisette, right?"

"Lisette is beyond help now. I am doing this for Yvette."

"Yvette?"

Actor sighed. "It is – complicated. I wish this to be a special occasion for Yvette." He paused. "She has no-one now. A requiem at the local church is hardly fitting and would be ill-attended. She deserves better." Abruptly he engaged the clutch and they moved off smoothly. "I need your support." The words were almost whispered.

"You know you've got it."

"Thank you."

When they arrived at the Old Vicarage Garrison got out and waited next to the big car while Actor went into the house and came out again almost immediately carrying Yvette's bag, which he placed in the boot next to Garrison's.

Yvette pulled the front door closed behind her, checked it, then walked over to the two men. She was wearing a blue print dress that looked to Garrison's amateur eye as though it could've come from an expensive fashion house, with a black coat and a wide-brimmed black hat that was trimmed with a blue flower. As she got closer he could see that she was lightly made up. She was clutching a brown paper parcel to her side.

Actor performed the formal introductions in French, so Garrison offered his condolences in the same language, then held the door for Yvette and followed her into the back while Actor returned to the driving seat. To Garrison's surprise Yvette began to chat almost as they left her drive, admiring the car and telling them about the one she had tucked away in the garage, a Pullman, not as powerful as the Snipe but still a comfortable car. About how, before the war, she and her husband had toured Europe in it during the long summer holidays, with Lisette in the back, and how they had played silly games to get her to look around and be aware of her surroundings. Without taking his eyes off the road, Actor reached across to the glove box and pulled out of it a neatly folded white handkerchief which he held out over the back of the seat, and which she took with a word of thanks, wiped away the tears, then carried on chatting.

Despite Actor's earlier words, Garrison felt slightly uncomfortable, slightly out of place. For an American his French was good, but his two companions were fluent and colloquial, one a native speaker and the other as good as, and they were both educated and well-read. Their gestures and mannerisms had become Gallic too. He consoled himself with the thought that Actor did not swear when he tried to change gear with his right hand: he was sure a true Frenchman would've cursed les rosbifs.

As they neared central London Actor took command of the conversation. "We are going to my apartment in Knightsbridge," he announced. "It will be more convenient than an hotel. We will have dinner there, then rest until it is time to go to Mass. We will make the return journey after breakfast tomorrow morning."

Garrison fixed Actor with a piercing look. "Your apartment."

"It is quite comfortable, let me assure you. Chief has approved it. He assured me that the accommodations were of an acceptable standard." Garrison could hear the teasing tone, but it made him feel even more of an outsider, this time from the team: he felt as though the cons had closed ranks on him again, and he was alone and exposed to the vagaries of a suddenly very strange and alien world.

Despite expecting the unexpected, Actor's apartment still managed to surprise him. Not the apartment, but Actor's management of it. The blackout curtains were drawn and hidden behind graceful curtains, the fire was well ablaze, the table was laid for three with gleaming silver and crystal, and the candelabrum's candles were alight.

Tactfully Actor showed Yvette to the bathroom then took Garrison into the kitchen to prepare preprandial drinks. The smell of roasting pork made Garrison's mouth water, and he saw that pans were placed ready on the hob. Curiosity getting the better of him, he lifted one of the pan lids: inside were potatoes covered in water, ready to cook. Actor smiled briefly but warmly at him, then turned his attention back to getting the ice for their aperitifs.

Over martinis in the sitting room Actor finally briefed them. "Firstly, you need to understand that the Mass is strictly secret. It must not be mentioned to anyone. To this end the Free French will close off the area – we can expect to be challenged at least twice on our way to the church. Normal clothing is worn, although we usually put on black ties when we arrive in church. Those actually attending the Mass will all know Lisette, although not necessarily by that name.

"The service will be the normal Requiem Mass. At the end champagne will be distributed, and there will be two toasts. The first will be to Lisette, and the second will be 'mort aux Boches'. After the second it is the convention for those who have killed a German in hand to hand fighting to finish the glass then smash it on the floor, and stamp on the shards twice with the right foot." He smiled gently. "Then we have a party for exactly one hour." He finished his cocktail, then stood up. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must see to the food."

It was reflex that made Garrison ask, "Do you need any help?"

Yvette answered for Actor. "No, I am sure he can manage. You must stay here and talk to me."

As soon as Actor had left the room, Yvette switched to English. "Lieutenant, I think Jean-Pierre refers to you as The Warden, but he will not tell me why. Can you enlighten me?"

"It's just a nickname, m'am."

"Oh, please, call me Yvette. And may I call you Craig? Now, this nickname – is it _un surnom _or _un sobriquet_? What does it mean?"

Thinking quickly, Garrison laughed. "It started out as a _surnom_. I think we got off on the wrong foot."

"But I am sure that is not the case now, would you not say? Jean-Pierre speaks of you with great respect."

"Does he?" Garrison tried to keep the cynical note out of his voice but didn't quite succeed.

"Oh, but he holds you in great esteem. And he respects your opinion. Did you not know this?"

"M'am, I'm just a lieutenant in the US Army. I spend most of my time pushing a pen over forms in triplicate." He needed to change the subject. "I understand that your husband is in the Engineers."

"That is correct. He was attached to the French Engineers on the Maginot Line when the Boches broke through. He has been a prisoner of war ever since." She chattered on about her husband's war until Actor served the soup.

After dinner Actor showed Yvette to the spare room then went back to the sitting room where the Warden was already stretched out on one of the sofas, his tie loosened. "Well, 'Jean-Pierre', this is certainly some place you've got."

"I am pleased that you like it, Lieutenant. Now, do you have any questions about tonight's events, or can I show you to your quarters and then we can both get some rest? I have had a very busy day, and it is not yet over for either of us."

In reply Garrison stood up and followed Actor out into the hall, where the conman picked up the Warden's bag and led the way out of the flat and down the stairs, then to the door of flat 4. Actor opened the door, then handed the key to Garrison as they stood in the hall. "The apartment has a mirror lay-out to mine," he explained, opening the main bedroom door and leading the Warden in. "I have had Walter prepare the master bedroom for you, and you will find provisions in the kitchen. I have set the alarm clock for one, and we will leave at one thirty. The phone there is also an intercom: press "i" to activate the system, and my extension is 6."

Garrison looked around the luxurious but cosy room. The main colours were cream and fawny brown, but the soft furnishings and bedspread were in light blue with a faint gold pattern, and the bed had been turned down to show the cream coloured sheets. The subdued lighting enhanced the feeling of comfort.

"Is this place yours too?"

Actor nodded. "Yes, but I do not use it very often. I have been meaning to ask you if you would like to have use of it, but the opportunity has been lacking until now. I think you will find it convenient to stay here when you come to London. Walter will of course service the apartment for you."

"You're offering me the use of this place?"

"You would be doing me a great service – the apartment needs to be used."

"Bullshit. You could let this place out a dozen times over. And charge a packet. What're you trying to pull?"

Garrison belatedly noticed that Actor had disappeared behind his mask again. "Warden, I assure you, I am not trying to pull anything. I am very tired, too tired for a conversation of this sort. Do you think we might discuss it later, when we are back at the Mansion?"

Whatever reply Garrison had expected, this certainly was not it. He nodded curtly. "I'm sorry, Actor. That was uncalled for. Go and get some sleep, and I'll see you just after one."

"Thank you, Warden. Sleep well."

Garrison watched the man leave, then gave in to his curiosity and looked around the flat. It was indeed a mirror of the upstairs flat, furnished in an equally luxurious and unostentatious fashion, even down to the crowded bookshelves. The only real difference was in the language – while the upstairs flat's books were all in French, this flat's were all in English. On a whim he selected Rogue Male and went off to bed.


	5. Chapter 5

Lisette

Part 5

The door to Flat 6 was ajar, so Garrison went straight in. Actor was in the kitchen, leaning against the sink with a cup of coffee in one hand and a bacon sandwich in the other. He was wearing a dress shirt that was open at the collar, his braces were hanging loosely at his sides and his hair was still slightly damp. Garrison couldn't remember ever seeing him so _rel__âché_, and promptly felt annoyed with himself for not being able to find the appropriate word in English.

Actor smiled a welcome. "Will you be taking communion tonight?"

"I doubt it."

"Then – breakfast?" Without waiting for an answer he moved to where a plate was set on the work-top, retrieved another plate from the oven and put together another bacon sandwich, which he handed to the Warden. It was followed by a cup of coffee – by this time Garrison expected it to be the freshly ground stuff, and he wasn't disappointed.

He'd slept well, albeit not for long enough, but had come to the upper flat feeling refreshed and ready to tackle the world. Within minutes of entering the flat he felt ill-at-ease, uncomfortable – inadequate was the word that fitted best. He was stung when it struck him that it wasn't the flat – it was Actor. The man was flaunting his wealth in front of him – his ill-gotten gains. The man was a convicted criminal, his sentence unspent, and yet he'd been living the life of Riley in the lap of luxury while he – on his salary, he could hardly afford an occasional night on the town. It seemed to him that crime did pay, or at least the con game did.

He looked across where the conman had resumed his breakfast. Even in this _rel__âché_ state, the man was stunningly handsome and debonair. And charming birds off trees was a just a warm-up exercise for him. But the ethics of the man – or did he mean the morals? He was annoyed to find that the conman's precious precision in the use of words was affecting him now. Whichever it was, the man seemed to have no qualms about debauching the daughter of a friend. And if Actor had lied to him about his relationship with Yvette, that compounded the man's villainy and baseness. And the man certainly knew how to lie: he'd lied fluently, frequently and plausibly to save their skins.

A feeling of righteous indignation sustained Garrison through breakfast and settled in for the day. It was strengthened when he saw Actor, immaculate in dinner jacket and black tie, tuck Yvette's hand in the crook of his arm as they walked down to the Snipe, smiling down at her as they conversed in French. Actor handed Yvette into the back seat, handed her the brown paper package, then held the door for Garrison. As he stepped into the car he heard Actor murmur, "Warden", and that made him even madder. _Dieser verdammte Spottname!_

"Are you alright, Craig?" Yvette asked anxiously. "You seem a little – put out."

He smiled politely. "No, m'am. I'm just not good at early mornings."

Immediately she was chatting about her husband's bad temper when he had to stay up late, but how he was always up early to see to the fires and make breakfast. Forced to pay attention to Yvette, Garrison could not pay attention to the route, but noted when the car slowed down and stopped at a road block. A bobby came to Actor's window, which he wound down so that they could speak. "I'm sorry, sir, but the road's closed. Unexploded bomb."

"The explosion will open it."

Immediately the bobby waved, and three soldiers in British uniforms hurried out to remove the barrier to allow the car through. Turning, Garrison saw them replacing it after they'd passed. It happened twice more before they pulled up in front of a dark church. As soon as the car stopped there were soldiers at each door, standing to attention as they got out, Yvette still clutching her parcel. Actor ignored the soldier who slipped into the driving seat, closed the door and drove the car away: he obviously expected it to happen. The soldiers used muffled torches to guide them into the church, and as they entered their guides disappeared back into the darkness.

Inside Garrison was surprised to see Captain Jenkins and Sergeant Wilkinson waiting, both of them in dress uniform with swords. Then Actor commanded his attention by taking him gently by the arm and saying, "Lieutenant, there is someone I would like you to meet."

Even as he said the words a priest, swathed in black, came hurrying in, focussed on Actor and swept up to him to greet him with a bear hug. Garrison watched as the two smiled then laughed at each other, without a word being exchanged, and he felt very much the outsider again.

"Marcel," Actor was saying, "I should like to introduce you to my commanding officer, Lieutenant Garrison. Lieutenant, this is my dear friend, Marcel Benoit."

The two shook hands and Marcel seized the moment. "Ah, Warden, I get to meet you at last. I am sorry it is under such unfortunate circumstances. We have but little time now – the Mass is due to start – but promise me that we can speak afterwards?"

Taken aback, Garrison agreed.

Then all attention was on Yvette, who handed over her precious parcel to Captain Jenkins and Sergeant Wilkinson. They quickly but reverently stripped off the brown paper to reveal a large photograph in a black mourning frame, and although he didn't get to see it properly, Garrison guessed it must be of Lisette. Then the two SOE men held it between them, the priest fell in behind them, and Garrison found himself on Yvette's left with her arm tucked in his, while Actor took his position on her right. The double doors to the church were opened, and they began to slow march in down the aisle.

As they entered everyone in the crowded church stood, and the light shimmered as the candles that each member of the congregation held wavered in the moving air, making the shadows flicker and sway, and the light glistened and sparkled on gold braid and polished brass buttons. The front pew was empty, and Actor guided Yvette to it, and Garrison naturally stood next to her, flanking her protectively.

The two SOE men continued their slow march to the lectern which had been placed near the altar rail: they marched behind it, then lifted the portrait over the top to slide it into place, so that the picture was clearly visible to the people who had gathered to say goodbye to Lisette. Then they marched slowly to each side of the lectern, came to a halt, turned to face the portrait and stood momentarily to attention. They drew their swords, brought them up to their faces in salute, slowly dipped them, saluted again, then took a step back before returning their swords to their sheaths. Again they stood to attention, nodded curtly to the picture, then fell out and moved to take their places at the front pew. They had performed the ritual with the precision of Guardsmen.

Garrison only realised he was holding his breath when the priest began the ritual of the Requiem Mass.

He knew his attention should be on the priest, but his eyes were inexorably drawn to the portrait of Lisette. He'd only met her once, when she'd come to the Mansion to apologise to Actor, and then she'd been thin and gaunt; under the self-possessed exterior, she'd been deeply frightened and haunted by memories. Not even the most charitable person would've called her beautiful. But the young woman who looked out of the photograph was beautiful. There was a glow about her that came from within, a radiance that filled her being with life and hope and happiness.

And love.

It hit Garrison like a bolt of lightning.

That look was Actor's doing. He was responsible for it. He'd taken away her fear and dread and replaced it with hope and happiness. And love.

He listened to the priest's carefully worded eulogy that praised the woman's work in occupied France and thanked God that her end had been the swift work of a bullet, and it hit him again: this was Actor's doing again. He was protecting the mother from the horrendous truth of her daughter's protracted death agony. He was ensuring that she would never know of it, and so would be spared the agony of knowing.

Yvette went up to take communion, and in the candlelight he could see the glow of pride and love on the woman's face. He turned to look at Actor, knowing that what he was thinking would be written all over his face. Actor caught the look, and smiled softly before turning back to watch Yvette.

At the end of the Mass Yvette led the congregation in placing their candles in front of the portrait before moving to collect a glass of champagne from a table at the back of the church.

The priest proposed the first toast.

"Mesdames, messieurs – Jeanne D'Auvers – Lisette Bruller."

The toast was echoed loudly, each person echoing the name by which they'd known her, and then there was silence as the crowd drank to the memory of the dead woman.

The priest almost shouted the second toast. "Mort aux Boches!"

The repeat of the toast exploded loudly, then again the silence before the church rang to the sound of smashing glass and the crunch of boot heels grinding it into the floor.

When he'd heard of the convention he'd thought it sounded crass and theatrical, and Garrison had decided not to take part in it. Now, feeling part of the conspiracy to protect Yvette, he smashed his glass and stamped his boot heel with as great an enthusiasm as the Free French soldiers around him.

The party began with the replacement of and recharging of champagne glasses. He watched bemused as Actor hovered protectively next to Yvette as she accepted the condolences of Lisette's friends and co-workers. He found Captain Jenkins at his side, also looking at Actor and Yvette. "If ever you want to release him, have him transferred to me," the Captain said quietly. In response to Garrison's enquiring look, he added, "He had Wilkinson and me up half the night drilling that little display. That nickname of his suits him to the ground. He's got a hell of an eye for the dramatic."

Garrison could only nod in agreement.

They were soon joined by the priest, who asked Jenkins to excuse them and drew Garrison to one side. "I am so pleased to meet you at last, mon ami. But I'm afraid I have very little time to get to know you, and I must burden you with a request, which I know is not a polite thing to do so early in our acquaintance, but – _c'est la guerre, n'est-c'pas? _I have to leave soon – I have been called to Rome. At last the Holy Father – but never mind that. As I say, I have a request to make of you. Will you grant me that request?"

"That depends on what you want," the Warden said cautiously.

"Will you look after Jean-Pierre for me?"

"Look after – I don't think he'd appreciate me even trying."

"Then you would be wrong, my friend. He is very lonely man, and he needs a friend. Look after him for me. God bless you, my son." And the man was gone, leaving Garrison even more dazed and bemused.


	6. Chapter 6

Lisette

Part 6 (of a three part story)

Garrison drifted gently out of a deep, refreshing sleep. The blackout curtains meant the room was dark, but he'd opened the window before retiring, and he could hear birds singing in the trees outside. He stretched catlike in the big bed, then reached for his watch. Just after ten. He collapsed back onto the pillow and looked around the room.

It was clean and it was comfortable. That meant that it was a damned sight better than the London hotels he'd stayed in up to now. The room felt warm despite the open window. And he wouldn't have to share a bathroom. And he could pad around the place stark naked if he felt like it. A naughty little voice in his head, one that he hadn't heeded for a long time, whispered "Why the hell not?", and he was out of bed, calling at the bathroom before heading into the kitchen and exploring the contents of the cupboards. He soon located a small packet of ground coffee and a cafetiere, and made himself an indulgently strong drink. He found a bottle of fresh milk in the refrigerator. His only regret was that in wartime Britain there was no cream to be had.

He took his coffee into the sitting room and opened the curtains. It was a bright day, with white clouds scudding over a blue sky, and only one barrage balloon in sight to spoil it. He stood at the window, enjoying the coffee and the sun on his skin, looking out over the parking places and garages, the rose garden and the trees and hedges that shielded the property from the prying eyes of neighbours. To say it was in central London, the place was an oasis.

He found he was wriggling his toes in the deep pile of the carpet.

He turned and looked at the room. It was large, welcoming. The books gave it a homely look; there were copies of Stars and Stripes and The Tatler on the coffee table.

He sat down on one of the big sofas. There was a fire already laid in the grate; all it needed was a match.

My God, but he was sorely tempted. But if he did – if he accepted the offer of the use of the flat – would he lose his soul too? Would he be in hock to the conman? Could he risk it?

The phone rang. He went into the hall and cautiously picked it up without saying anything. Actor's smooth and confident voice said, "Will you take brunch with us?"

"Yeah. But I need a shower first."

"Eleven o'clock, then? Come up when you're ready."

"Yeah. Thanks." Slowly he replaced the receiver while he reflected. He'd seen a new side to the conman in the last twenty-four hours. Garrison had always thought that Actor was out for number one, but he knew now that wasn't true. But the man was full of surprises.

Still ruminating, he headed for the bathroom. The bright whiteness of the suite made him pause. The towel rail was warm, and the bath towel was the biggest he'd ever seen. And it was thick and fluffy. And were you to stand in the bath you could easily reach it. Impulsively he put the plug in and turned on the hot tap. Five minutes later he was stretched out in a hot bath of pre-war depth, soaking in the muscle-easing and mind-soothing luxury of deep hot water. As he lapped the water over his chest, he smiled happily.

He was late for breakfast. The flat door was open, so he walked straight in again, closing it behind him, and went into the sitting room. Actor and Yvette were deep in conversation, but they broke off as he entered, both looking to where he stood just inside the room. Actor moved smoothly to his feet, a genial smile of welcome on his face. "Good morning, Lieutenant. I hope you slept well?"

"Fine, thanks."

He watched as Actor swept past him, heading for the kitchen, while Yvette moved to his side and timidly touched his arm, a gentle smile on her tired face. She looked up at him. "Thank you so much for accompanying me last night." Her eyes glowed with fresh tears. "It means so much to me – knowing that she was part of something so strong, - that she was important to them all. I never understood what she was a part of, and now I have a small understanding. Now I understand a little of what she gave her life for –" Her grief overwhelmed her, and it was the most natural thing in the world for Garrison to take her into his arms and settle her head against his chest and mutter soothing words to gently comfort her.

After brunch Actor refused Yvette's offer of help with the washing up, diverting her instead to his books and asking her if she would care to borrow any of them. Garrison followed Actor into the kitchen and picked up a tea towel. "You get any sleep last night?"

"A little."

Garrison paused, wondering how to phrase the next question. The most direct way seemed easiest. "She know about you and Lisette?"

Actor paused, then conveyed the plate he was washing to the draining board. "Yes."

The silence lengthened.

"You want me to drive us back?"

"That would be – kind of you."

The rest of the chore was completed in silence, then they returned to the sitting room where Yvette had placed a large pile of books on the table. This time Garrison heard as Actor slipped back into Actor-mode, a rich chuckle and an-off-the-cuff comment about hiring a van making the woman smile back at him.

Garrison took it gently with the big car, getting used to the right-hand drive and also the sensitivity of the accelerator. Actor guided him to the part of London he knew: the next time he checked his mirror Actor's arm was around Yvette's shoulders, holding her to him, and they were both asleep.

At the Old Vicarage Garrison waited while Actor took Yvette inside. He consciously watched the man's back, and when he'd disappeared inside, looked around the big, comfortable car. He reflected on how alike the car and its owner were – assuming that Actor owned it, of course.

When Actor settled into the front passenger seat Garrison engaged the clutch and guided the Snipe back onto the road. But instead of heading towards the Estate, he went back to the Great North Road and drove a couple of miles at a sedate pace until he reached the bit of road he knew to be pretty straight. Then he changed down into third and floored the accelerator, gunning the engine and listening until it was just starting to scream at 55. Then he changed back into fourth and floored the accelerator again. He sailed past the other traffic on the road, weaving the big car expertly, revelling in the responsiveness of it. The speedometer showed 118 when he knew he was running out of road and needed to slow down. When he pulled up in a convenient lay-by it was a meek and gentle stop.

"I suppose it's a bit late to ask if you mind."

Actor grinned, opened his eyes and lifted his head off the back of the seat. "That is the first time I have known you to do something just for the hell of it. It is nice to know you can be human."

"You didn't see my bath water this morning," Garrison confessed with a rueful smile.

"More than the regulation five inches?" Actor decided to push his luck.

"I always have more than the regulation five inches."

At first Actor tried to suppress his laugh, but it quickly exploded from him in a guffaw of delight.

He fell silent and his face became serious as Garrison took the flat key out of his pocket and placed it on the dashboard between them.

"You say Yvette knows about you and her daughter."

"How could she not know? I took a frightened, stiff young girl to London, and brought back a warm and happy woman. She knew the moment we walked into the house." Actor paused to think before adding, "Yvette has not had an easy life. When she was young she had a passionate affair with a young man who deserted her when she found she was carrying his child. Her husband has given her security and is kind to her, I think, but he has never been the passionate lover she needs. So she has lived through her daughter. It seemed – important – that she should have a fitting ceremony to mark the child's death."

"And you set that up?"

"Yes. With a little help, of course." A glint of mischief lit his eye. "The Captain had to be persuaded that it would not be incorrect for the Sergeant to carry a sword."

"Not the done thing?" Garrison asked in an exaggerated English accent.

"Most certainly not." They shared a grin at English stuffiness.

"And the priest?"

"An old friend from my student days." Actor sighed, then frowned, puzzled. "I would have said that I knew him very well, but it seems I was wrong." He glanced across at Garrison, who raised an eyebrow just a fraction. "I thought we had talked about everything, but the one thing we never talked about was each other. Now we have, and I find that... " Actor's voice trailed off.

"He isn't who you thought he was?" Garrison prompted.

"On the contrary, he is greater than I thought he was. Whereas I..." Again, uncharacteristically, Actor went silent as his thoughts took over, and he sighed quietly. He glanced over at his silent companion. "Let us just say that I have learnt a great deal about him and about myself over the past couple of weeks." Briskly he started to change the subject. "Now, about the apartment –"

"Are you going to be okay with Yvette?" interrupted Garrison.

"I believe so. I have managed to keep her at bay for the past few months, and I am hoping that my – intimacy with her daughter will act as a psychological barrier."

"You might be wrong."

"Possibly. But I can manage her. When the heart is not engaged the head always rules."

"You're not that hard-hearted."

"No. But I'd be grateful it you would keep that fact to yourself."

"Don't worry, Jean-Pierre – your secret's safe with me." Garrison grinned at the conman, who smiled tentatively back. "Now – this apartment." His smile faded. "Just how many of those flats do you own?"

Actor's face lit up with delight. "One or two of them."

"Don't bullshit me – how many exactly?"

"All of them."

"All of them?" It was not the answer he was expecting.

"All of them. The four at the front, the north-facing ones, I have let out. The four at the back I keep for personal use."

"For personal use." Garrison's voice was flat: he refused to let the conman surprise him yet again.

"In the early thirties the Mafia tried to move into London. They didn't succeed, so they kept the venture quiet. I – discovered - that one of them had set up a gaming house and brothel here, and had moved his mistress in as manageress and madam. Quite by accident I found out that they had both been killed in a – little local dispute in Sicily. So I came to London and arranged to buy the property from the dead man. I knew that there would be no record of the property in his effects, and it was quite simple for me to play both the vendor and the buyer. I found the deeds in his safe."

Garrison had to laugh. The man had done it again. "You broke into his safe?"

"I found the key."

"So you hold legal title to the whole block?"

"That is correct."

Garrison shook his head in mock despair. "And who is Walter?"

"Walter is someone I saved from – let us say a fate worse than death. For him, at least. He prefers to keep a low profile. It suits his personality to serve me, and I ensure his safety in return."

Garrison shook his head again, this time laughing in disbelief, yet knowing the conman was telling the truth.

Actor continued. "Each apartment had its own security system. It uses infra-red light which picks up body heat. That way Walter knows if the flat is occupied and when he can service it. If you use the system judiciously he can also tell if you have a guest, and supply provisions accordingly."

"You think of everything, don't you?"

"I try to. But if I did I would not be here now." Garrison realised it was the first time he'd heard the conman mention his conviction, even obliquely, and he wasn't surprised when Actor changed the subject. "Your using the flat would help to keep the billeting officer away."

Slowly Garrison reached forward and grasped the key, but did not pick it up. He turned in his seat to look directly at the Italian. "Two conditions."

"Name them."

"First – this is between the two of us. No-one else is to know." Garrison knew that Actor would understand who the no-ones were.

"Agreed."

"Second – if we happen to meet there, you call me Craig." Now it was Actor's turn to look surprised, and Garrison felt he had to clarify. "Everything else stays the same."

With a slightly raised eyebrow, Actor said, "Agreed."

Garrison took the key and returned it to his pocket. "Now let's get this lady back to her home. You gonna tell me where you keep her?"

Actor grinned. "Warden, we agreed – the apartment only. You may drive her back to the Mansion, and I shall permit Casino to take her for a spin. Then I shall return her to her home at my own convenience."

The two men grinned at one another, both understanding.


End file.
